Age jokes
My wife is pregnant with a 3-year-old, so I gave her medicine, but now she’s pregnant with a 5-year-old.
"Ring Ring! Hi, I've been needing to call you. Your hairline has been found by Dora after 25 years!"
Who is the least young Dave?
Dave-on.
At one point in your life, you were exactly pi years old.
if priests were on Twitter, they would tweet, "He's a 10 but he's 10."
Yo momma is so old, she farts dust!
How can you find out how old a cabbage is?
By looking at its cabbAGE.
What do most 50-year-old men put inside their cars?
Children.
On a scale of 1-10, how old was Michael Jackson’s last boyfriend?
I apologise for this joke lmfaooo, and you have probably heard this banger before, anyways; What is the difference between a priest and a zit? 👀 The zit waits till you are 13 to come on your face 🤧
I did so much research that I got bone-tired from doing this, tibia honest. You probably didn't find that humerus. I got a skeleton of these puns. I guess I could learn a femur puns. I was wondering if the creators of this site could talus how they come up with puns or maybe give some advice? I'm only 14 years old.
A 60 year old man said his wife called him a paedophile the other day, strong words for a 6 year old.
Kid with Cancer: "When I get older, I want to be a movie star or a singer."
Nurse: *Laughs*
Kid: "Why are you laughing?"
Nurse: "When I get OLDER."
Proceeds to laugh.
What's the difference between a 14-year-old boy and an 8-year-old boy?
The 14-year-old is on top, the 8-year-old is on the bottom.
What's the best thing about having sex with 28 year olds?
There's 20 of them.
My girlfriend is 19 and I'm 29. We go out to eat in a restaurant, but the whole time I have to deal with being accused of being a pedo, being called disgusting and disturbed.
It completely ruined our 10 year anniversary.
Mom: You need to grow up. You're so immature.
Me: *glares* Get out of my castle....
Mom: It's a pillow fort.
Me: Why can't I have an imagination! ?
Mom: You're almost 19 years old.
Me: Not good enough... OUT!
The moment came. The starter dropped his red flag. "They're away!"
Not for one second did Agba need to hunt for Lath in that flying stream of horseflesh. He did not even look for the scarlet and white stripes of the jockey's body-coat. His eyes were fixed on the littlest horse, the littlest horse that got away to a bad start!
The field was far out in front. The big horses were whipping down the steep slope to Devil's Dyke, skimming along the running gap, leaping up the opposite bank and across a long flat stretch. They were beginning to bunch, making narrow gaps. Lath was coming up from behind. He began filling in the gaps. He went through them. He was a blob of watercolor, trickling along the green turf between the other colors.
For a brief second the horses were hidden by a clump of hawthorn trees. Agba's knees tightened. He felt Sham quiver beneath him, saw white flecks of sweat come out on his neck. It was well the grooms were there to hold them both!
The horses were coming around the trees now. The golden blob was still flowing between the other colors. It was flowing beyond them, flowing free!
In full stride, Lath was galloping down the dip and up the rise to the ending post. He was flying past it, leaving the "lusty" horses behind.
"The little horse wins!"
"Lath, an easy winner!"
"Lath, son of Godolphin Arabian, wins!"
People of all ages and all ranks clapped their hands and cheered in wild notes of triumph.
Agba never knew how he and Sham reached the royal stand. But suddenly, there they were. And the Earl of Godolphin was there, too.
"I am pleased to give," Queen Caroline was saying in her sincere, straightforward manner, "I am pleased to give and bestow upon the Earl of Godolphin, the Queen's Plate."
Everyone could see it was not a plate that she held in her hands at all. It was a purse. But only Agba and the Earl knew how much that purse would mean to the future of the horse in England. The Earl looked right between the plumes in the Queen's bonnet and found Agba's eyes for an instant. Then he fell to his knees and kissed the Queen's hand.
A hush fell over the heath. The Queen's words pinged sharp and clear, like the pearls that suddenly broke from her necklace and fell upon the floor of the stand. No one stooped to recover them, for the Queen was speaking.
"And what," she asked, as she fixed one of her own purple plumes in Sham's headstall, "what is the pedigree of this proud sire of three winning horses?"
Agba leaned forward in his saddle.
There was a pause while the Earl found the right words. "Your Majesty," he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "his pedigree has been...has been lost. But perhaps it was so intended. His pedigree is written in his sons."
How the country people cheered! An unknown stallion wearing the royal purple! It was a fairy tale come true.
The princesses clapped their hands, too. Even the King seemed pleased. He puffed out his chest and nodded to the Queen that the answer was good.
Agba swallowed. He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Quickly, before anyone noticed, he raised his hand to brush it away. His hand stopped. Why, he was growing a beard! He was a man! Suddenly his mind flew back to Morocco. My name is Agba. Ba means father. I will be a father to you, Sham, and when I am grown I will ride you before the multitudes. And they will bow before you, and you will be King of the Wind. I promise it.
He had kept his word!
For the first time in his life, he was glad he could not talk. Words would have spoiled everything. They were shells that cracked and blew away in the wind. He and Sham were alike. That was why they understood each other so deeply.
The Godolphin Arabian stood very still, his regal head lifted. An east wind was rising. He stretched out his nostrils to gather in the scent. It was laden with the fragrance of wind-flowers. Of what was he thinking? Was he re-running the race of Lath? Was he rejoicing in the royal purple? Was he drawing a wood cart in the streets of Paris? Or just winging across the grassy downs in...
God: Ok, so I created adults. And I created how they are supposed to look from being born to preteen.
Satan: (slides in) I’ll take over for you, pops.
God: I dunno... this is very delicate work. Just one wrong thing can ruin the system.
Satan: Don’t worry your beard off! (Pats his back) I’ll just do the ages from 12 to 18!
God: Hmm... I’m still not- (Gets a call on his phone) Shoot, I got to take this. (Answers call) Don’t touch anything, Lucifer! (Walks away)
Satan:.......(just touches lightly, and alarms start blaring. He squeaks and runs away)
God: (rushes in) WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!?!
God: (tries fixing problems. Only gets alarms off) Fuck me........
God:....(sighs) Fine, it’ll stay. We’ll just call it....puberty.
How can you tell the difference between a Christian priest and a zit?
One waits until you're twelve to come on your face.